


The Morning Before the Night After

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you can't remember the night before is it really the morning after?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning Before the Night After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/gifts).



Spock woke to the sensation of sunlight on his skin. Experience allowed him to differentiate between artificial lighting and sunlight, so this was an acceptable deduction and not a hunch. Spock was in considerable pain, so he allowed that taking a few minutes to think things over was acceptable. Opening his eyes hurt, considerably, so he shut them again. What was unusual about waking this way was the sunlight dancing on half of his body, not just his face. It would seem he was naked and half covered by a cooler body.

Unfortunately, he’d woken on enough away missions to recognize the feel of an unconscious Captain Kirk, which was how he knew it wasn’t Jim covering him. Unwilling to risk further pain in his eyes, Spock took a good sniff of his surroundings. His stomach threatened to revolt, even more so when he thought the idiom. He did manage to discern the being was human, male, and familiar. 

Further efforts were needed to determine Spock’s physical condition and to prevent further surprises like the nausea. The pain in his head increased as Spock checked his mechanoreceptors and compiled his results. Dehydration, muscle ache, headache, and nausea confirmed that Spock wasn’t in condition to fight his way out of a wet paper bag. 

Spock made a mental note to remove that phrase from his vocabulary as well. It was one of Dr. McCoy’s sayings, though he had never been able to provide the tensile strength of a wet paper bag for quantification of that phrase. That could wait, as first Spock needed to finish assessing his situation. 

The human on him was most likely a member of the crew and it was not Jim. This indicated that Jim would be working on getting them back if they had been taken hostage. For most people, a hostage situation would rate statistically unlikely to have happened. These odds shifted exponentially for members of the Enterprise crew, even when compared to similar starships. Another research project for later time. 

Unless he needed to think outside the box, which was another of Dr. McCoy’s idioms without context. He had never attempted to explain what box he was referring to. To consider this situation as if he were not a member of the Enterprise would suggest either an accident or illness had been the cause. Spock could accept illness, as perhaps he had been quarantined in this room with another sufferer so that they did not infect the rest of the crew. Most of the alpha shift bridge crew was on this mission, he remembered, but it took some mental effort to recall any further details. 

“It’s not R and R; it’s a diplomatic function.” Jim’s voice, speaking from a blurred memory. 

What recreational activity would make Jim wary in a diplomatic function? From what Spock had observed about human recreation, there tended to be lower inhibitions than in a formal, diplomatic environment. Therefore, someone other than Jim must have lost his or her inhibitions and begun to behave badly. Perhaps they had been stunned by the native’s weapons or sprayed with some illness inducing crowd control method. Which would actually be quite ingenious, if it was sure to be nonlethal and work on most sentient species. 

Although he was unsure of the source of his illness, a healing trance would be the best way to sort it out. Speeding up his metabolic processes would allow any foreign toxins to be expunged from his system as well as treat any detrimental effects. A light healing trance would be the most effective option, so that he would not need assistance to wake; a light trance would allow him to respond to external stimulation in case of emergency. Finding his plan logical, Spock began the meditations needed, and expected the human on him to have enough sense to leave him to it. 

Len&Spock

Len held tight to his dream, not wanting to leave the comfort and warmth of it. He wasn’t sure what he’d been laying on in his dream of the beach, but it was a lot nicer than sand. When he could no longer stay in his half-asleep, half-dream vacation, Len took a deep breath. It didn’t take a medical degree to recognize a hangover the size of Texas. 

“Ease up on the apricot martinis, Bones. It’s not R ‘n R; it’s a diplomatic function.” Jim’s voice, like the ghost of hangovers past, echoing through his hung-over skull was never a good sign. 

Okay, he had a 5-alarm hangover, a cactus for a tongue, and the nausea of Telerite Flue. Which one of those symptoms explained why he thought it would be a good idea to sleep half on the universe’s stiffest heated blanket? Daring to crack an eye, Len waited out the blast of pain until he could see his surroundings. His precious, precious med kit was on the shelves by the door; just where he left it when he couldn’t take it to things like diplomatic functions. Len wasn’t supposed to need it; it was there for Jim, but he could work with it. 

Knowing that anticipation of pain only made it worse, Len rolled to his feet and stumbled to the med kit as quickly as he could. The pain caught up with him as he got there, but pushing through it let him grab the hypo in the outer pocket. The hangover cure was gratefully jabbed into his neck, so Len stood there and waited for it to take effect. It would speed up his metabolism to flush the alcohol out, while lowering the nausea and pain. When given to Jim, it made him sleepy enough to allow Spock to fix whatever problems Jim might have caused while drunk. 

For normal people, the best hangover cure, other than not drinking so damn much, was to sleep it off. Since he was in his assigned room, and presumably safe, Len decided to go back to bed. Turning, he saw something unexpected, someone he wouldn’t kick out of his bed. Spock’s long lines and acres of lick-able skin, topped off with those devilish ears were one thing when seen naked in sick bay. There Dr. McCoy was a professional and could ignore the person while fixing what needed fixing. But naked Spock in his bed was another matter entirely. 

Len found himself walking over, forgetting his own naked state and the med kit. Why was Spock beautifully naked in his room? Had Jim decided to up the teasing and managed to convince Spock it was necessary for the safety of the ship that he sleep naked in Len’s bed? No, then Spock’s clothes would be neatly folded and not scattered across the floor, mixed in with Len’s own formal uniform. 

How thankful was Len that Spock was asleep and the hangover kept his appreciation of naked, asleep Spock from growing past half-mast? 

Oh, hell! Len growled to himself as he sat gently on the edge of the bed. He’d finally made his appreciation known, probably under the influence of apricot martinis, and they’d fallen together in his bed. He didn’t remember that much of last night, and doubted he’d remember too much more as he sobered up. Spock, with his Vulcan metabolism and voodoo, would remember everything, wouldn’t he? What if he didn’t like it, and would never lower himself to doing it again? 

Life wasn’t fair, God knows Len knows that; but this was beyond not fair. He’d taken to double gloving when he had to treat Spock, just hoping his desires didn’t bleed through the touch to the telepath. Others he could treat without gloves, relying on the germ control systems and spray on sanitation, but he didn’t expect any of them to detect his deepest secret and send him a condescending eyebrow. Spock would know it all now, and Len wouldn’t even have a memory to relive. 

Or he wouldn’t, if he didn’t take the opportunity presented to him. 

Bit creepy, yes, but might as well be hung for stealing the hen rather than the egg. Or as his Uncle Randal said, if you’re going to be hung for stealing the egg, might as well take the whole barn. Uncle Randal was a little off his rocker, but fun to be around. Leaning forward, Len set about stealing his egg; the barn would wait. 

Gentle hands stroked up long legs, watching as the dark, sparse hairs stood up as if reaching for him. When his hands were on boney hips, Len marveled at how well his hands fit around them. He could see how perfect it would be, gripping there while he pushed in, or lined himself up to ride. It was an effort to move up to the dusky nipples, taunting him with their perkiness. How sensitive were Spock’s nipples? What better way to find out than with a lick or two? They tasted of copper, as expected by Len’s knowledge of Spock’s anatomy and copper based blood. Expected or not, it was still delicious and Len kept at it, eyes flicking up occasionally to see if Spock was awake yet. 

Spock’s eyes were moving rapidly behind his eyelids, as if enjoying a deep REM sleep. Len wasn’t sure if he wanted Spock to wake, but he was confused that Spock hadn’t already. He seemed fine and healthy, so Len moved up to tease that tempting Adam’s apple. It dipped and bobbed, hiding behind the uniform collars. Even when it peaked out, it was a tiny thing, begging to be sucked, or so Len thought. It did look lovely when Len moved away, admiring the green spot in the middle of Spock’s lovely throat. 

Back to the nipples for a little while, a slight detour at the belly button, and Len let himself look at Spock’s cock. Spock’s cock was not to mock. The rhyme made him giggle a little but he couldn’t do much else as all his blood rushed to his own cock. Spock’s cock was hard, and so very different than the flaccid one Len had seen in medical. The drool had taken care of that cactus mouth rather nicely, so Len licked the erection in front of him. 

It filled even more, and Len’s appreciation did the same. Kissing his way up the shaft, over the head, and down again, Len was now in a position to see Spock’s face while he worked with his cock. Spock’s legs had fallen open, no longer the straight lines they’d been, but they still made a nice base to work from. 

And work Len did, tasting every piece of skin on display before him, suckling at the tiny amount of precum that Spock sent out. Intellectually, Len know Vulcans didn’t waste as much bodily fluids during sex as humans did but the comparisons would wait for later. For now, Len was fully in the moment, hoping every detail stuck in his memory for a very thorough and repeated analysis later, aided by some lube and sex toys. 

So in the moment was Len, that he didn’t stop what he was doing when Spock’s eyes opened. They opened, went wide, saw who was touching him and Spock came with a moan. Len leaned forward and licked the mess up while switching to stroke his own cock. It wasn’t much longer before he came into his hand. A slight adjustment and Len put his head on Spock’s flat stomach, ready to sleep for a week. 

He didn’t think Spock’s questions or critiques would wait that long, but cuddling with Spock was part of the whole fantasy. Len knew he wasn’t so awful that he’d never get sex from other people, but he thought he might be too cranky and stubborn for a relationship. It was simply his luck that he had a thing for the even more emotionally unavailable than him. 

“Doctor McCoy.” Spock said. 

It was later than expected and sooner than Len would like, but he roused himself enough to answer. “Call me Len.” 

“Len?” 

“Len, or Leonard. Hell, you could even call me Bones, but Doc is a little too formal for this occasion.” 

“Very well, Leonard. What is this occasion?” 

“Oh go on, beat around the bush a little more.” Len muttered, mostly to himself. He also knew enough to move on before getting into an etymological lesson with Spock. “If we are going to forthright and honest, like grownups are supposed to be yet only Vulcan grownups do, let me start. This occasion is we had drunk sex last night, and I don’t remember it. I woke up, figured you’d never let it happen again, so I made some memories.” 

“Leonard, while I am interested in how you came to the erroneous conclusions, I find I am more intrigued by why you believe I would not want to repeat the experience.” 

Len had to blink as he absorbed that, the blinking only served to show he’d closed his eyes to keep from looking at the too bright ceiling. What was the opposite of a blink? “Spock, you might have to help a plain old country doctor out, as I’m slightly hung-over and sleepy. Did you just say you’d like an encore?” 

“I did not enjoy the disorientation and illness that I woke with this morning, so if it is possible I would be interested in further encounters without the addition of disease.” 

“Disease? You were drunk off your half-Vulcan tush!” Len turned to watch Spock put ‘tush’ and ‘drunk off your tush’ in a mental box label ‘attempt to understand at a later date’. Len figured he featured predominantly in that mental box. 

“Alcohol does not affect Vulcans and I have experimented enough to determine that it does not affect me.” 

“Ah. Have you experimented with mixed cocktails?” 

Spock’s eyes shifted to look towards Len’s cock, lying sated on his thigh. Len began to laugh. Jim would have kicked Len off his legs for laughing, had he been in Spock’s place. Spock just scowled; his eyebrows drawn together by two millimeters and his mouth a firm line. Len forced his hilarity to subside, a task Spock should appreciate. 

“There is no tail on my cock; cocktails are simply another word for drinks made up of several ingredients. Didn’t you wonder how I knew to keep Jim away from the drinks last night?” 

“As they were called apricot martinis, I surmised they contained apricot. I did not know the captain was allergic to apricots but will be mindful of that in the future.” 

“Jim’s fine with apricots; wish he’d eat more of them and less red meat actually. Apricot martinis are made of apricot brandy, vodka, and chocolate liqueur. Jim can handle chocolate but not chocolate liqueur. Don’t ask me why; I’m his doctor not his maker. Vulcans, and half-Vulcans it seems, can get drunk on either form of chocolate.” Len waited, knowing how long it took Spock to do a mental facepalm. 

“So we were both drunk last night. That would explain the insipidness of the argument we had during the reception.” 

“What was it? Like I said, can’t remember much of last night.” 

“You maintained that the opposable thumb was an advance in evolution and should have some separation from the majority of fingers. This is an overly sentimental approach and not a sufficiently anatomical distinction. I maintained that the thumb was a finger and should be counted as the first or fifth finger if starting from the pinky on a human hand.” 

“We argued about how to count fingers?” 

“Loudly enough that the Captain ordered us to get a room.” 

“He’d order us to leave not… Oh, God, Spock! He jokingly asked us to leave or quiet down and you took it as an order. Did you bring me back to my room to argue about the big toe or have your way with me?” 

“The big toe is an example of why the thumb should be the first finger.” 

“The big toe is not opposable, which only goes to prove what I was saying!” Len said and then thought about it. Was he really going to continue the argument he didn’t remember having? "All that aside, Spock, I have to say that arguing with you is often the highlight of my days. It’s a fun challenge, but I really hope I never say anything that hurts you.” 

Spock was silent for a moment, eyes locked with Len’s. “Leonard, Vulcan society only allows for logical arguments that follow set patterns and rules. Nyota and I agreed on most subjects, excepting emotional issues. Arguing with you makes me think in new ways, which has made me a better scientist; more creative with how I approach difficulties.” 

“If you think arguing with me makes you smarter, you should try agreeing with me.” Len shot back, falling back on his resplendent crankiness and snarky humor. 

“I would enjoy such an opportunity, Leonard.” Spock said. 

“What?” 

“I might be, according to human parlance, in love with you. I would be very interested in finding out.” 

“That’s what I thought you said, but I still can’t believe it.” 

“Why is it so hard to believe?” 

Len’s mouth stuttered around, searching for input from his brain. His brain must have been out sunning on the beach or something, because it sure wasn’t in his head. Giving up on doing goldfish impersonations, his lips decided to go for their favorite activity. Kissing Spock was everything he’d ever dreamed of, but warmer and hotter, so Len settled in for the duration. Until Spock kissed him back and Len realized his post-orgasm recovery time had just shortened considerably. 

Spock felt Leonard’s arousal growing through their kiss and wondered how long it would be before he could feel it growing elsewhere. Leonard’s body was covering his, but Spock knew he could flip them if he needed to. It was good to know he could lift the weaker human off to the side, moving between him and the door if an emergency were to occur, but unless such an emergency happened Spock knew he wasn’t moving Leonard. 

It had been confusing to feel things for Leonard, who Spock thought tolerated him for Jim’s sake. To find that he enjoyed the discussions, (or arguments as Jim called them) as much as Spock erased much of that confusion, but a new one found its place in Spock’s mind. 

The healing trance had returned much of Spock’s memory, including their return to this room. Leonard had taken off his boots for comfort upon entering the room. When Spock had done the same, drunkenly believing it to be protocol while in another’s room, Len had stripped his tunic. Soon, they were naked and Leonard was trying to get Spock to lick his elbow. Spock was unclear as to where this idea came from, or why he laid on the bed to do so, but they both lost consciousness there. 

As Leonard kissed him and began to harden against his thigh, Spock wondered if now would be the time to tell him that they had not had drunken sex. A new part of Spock that looked at things differently, suggested that information might best be saved for a later time; perhaps after Spock had made some one-sided memories of his own. 

Spones 


End file.
